


In Which John Is Concerned

by AStudyInAlgedonics



Series: In Which Sherlock Knits, and Other Tales of 221B Baker St. [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sherlock plays slightly dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStudyInAlgedonics/pseuds/AStudyInAlgedonics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a master actor and also plays dirty when he's out for information, but you knew that already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which John Is Concerned

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the canon story "The Dying Detective" (sort of, in a parallel universe, with interdimensional fog or something) and a certain Pon and Zi comic. Can you get the plague from loving too much? Hm. I wonder...
> 
> Naturally I don't own a Sherlock.

"John, you're a doctor. Are you absolutely certain one cannot acquire the plague from too much sentiment?"

It took John a minute to snap out of the peaceful half-doze he'd fallen into. Sherlock hadn't spoken all day outside of a few bouts of coughing, after unceremoniously staggering into the den and collapsing onto the sofa. Apparently the consulting detective had come down with a touch of the flu.

He was more surprised than he should have been; Sherlock tended to give the impression that all normal ailments were somehow beneath him, but John _knew_ his flatmate was just as human as anyone else, and running around everywhere during flu season - it was a wonder it hadn't happened earlier.

Of course he'd managed to catch it on John's day off from the surgery. He'd been looking forward to it all week - one day, one solitary day without seemingly every sick, possibly-cranky hypochondriac in London needing to be told they just had the flu and were unlikely to die, and then Sherlock - who was definitely cranky - had to come down with it. Needless to say, John had resigned himself to having a very unpleasant day; the silence had come as a nice surprise.

"No," John said, a bit surprised; this was Mr 'Married-to-My-Work' himself, who'd decided emotions were the grit on the lens and scorned them in favor of cold logic. What was he doing, asking about sentiment? "Didn't realize she'd made that much of an impression," he added, probing, carefully offhanded, because that night had been a danger night and because Sherlock hadn't seemed quite…himself since then, but he'd never say anything himself that might give any 'weakness' away of his own accord.

Sherlock made a vaguely dismissive-sounding grunt. "Hardly. Nonentity."

"Oh, really?" He was still a bit concerned, but now his curiosity was piqued as well. "Who's got you asking something as ridiculous as that, then?"

Rather than answering, Sherlock burst into a heavy fit of spluttering coughs racking his slender frame. John was up and over at his side in an instant.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, calm down, breathe -"

As he thrashed around - Christ, did he have to take everything to extremes? - Sherlock clawed at the hand John had half-extended towards him before thinking twice. He scrabbled once over the back of John's hand, then clamped his fingers tight around his wrist and stilled.

A moment passed, a few heartbeats, before Sherlock released him, sprang up from the sofa with energy he hadn't shown all day, and headed towards his room, apparently completely recovered.

"Hang on," John said. "You can't be well yet, lie back down."

The small grin Sherlock turned on him certainly didn't look like an expression any sick man would have. "I wasn't actually sick, John," he said airily. "Just testing a theory."

"What theory was that, then?" John said, a bit miffed that he was being experimented on again - although he supposed he was grateful that it didn't involve drugs.

Sherlock's smile turned enigmatic, and that was all the answer John got; but later that night (three a.m again, _Christ_ , he had work that morning) he heard the violin singing the first cheerful-sounding piece Sherlock had played in a long time.


End file.
